


To a Stranger

by lavendersblue



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, otp: wait that's my word, soft!pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendersblue/pseuds/lavendersblue
Summary: “I’ve spent twenty years hiding who I am,” Pete finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44





	To a Stranger

They share a content warmth, both from the wine and the crackling fire glowing in front of them. It’s the first time they have been alone since arriving at the house that morning. The clink of glass against countertop reverberates from the kitchen as Sherri refills their drinks, momentarily leaving them pressed together on the loveseat by themselves. 

Chasten doesn’t think that Peter meeting his family for the first time (on Christmas Eve, no less) could have gone any better than it did. The nerves they had both felt hours ago as they lingered in the parked car had immediately dissipated between Sherri’s bear hugs and the dog’s endless kisses. Still, despite the fact that his family and his boyfriend seemed to get on like old pals, there is an uncomfortable thought nagging inside him that he is reluctant to broach.

“Hey,” Chasten murmurs, touching Pete’s arm. 

Pete hums in response, a content smile on his face that never fails to make Chasten’s heart do somersaults. He hesitates, framing his next words carefully.

“Would it be okay with you... if we put the PDA on hold for a little bit?” 

Pete’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. He pulls back from where he’d been leaning into his boyfriend. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that, earlier, when my aunt and uncle and the cousins were here… they had that look. When I would put my hand on your back, or when you would do this—” He nudges his arm into Pete’s, replicating Pete’s bashful gesture whenever Chasten praised him for something. He pauses and meets Pete’s blank gaze. “I just… I just know that look they had. I grew up with that look. I’m still a sore spot for some folks. So… would you be okay if we just… I don’t know. Eased up a bit with that?”

Chasten sees Pete’s eyes rapidly moving from side to side, as if his mind is trying to loop through the day to recollect any instances where he might have made Chasten uneasy. The silent exhale from Pete’s chest has a heaviness to it that makes Chasten’s own chest ache.

Pete cast his eyes downward. He doesn’t know what to say.

It is true that Pete had noticed the barely contained scowl from some relatives and one of Chasten’s brothers, but he had also seen that look from passers-by just walking around in South Bend throughout the past six months. He had learned to brush it off, knowing it wasn’t personal for the most part. Up until now, he had assumed that Chasten had done the same. It seems he still has a lot more to learn about considering his boyfriend’s feelings.

Making Chasten anxious is the last thing he would ever want to do. He feels gutted when he realizes that he might have done it without knowing it.

He realizes that he still hasn’t given Chasten an answer. “Yeah, of course,” he mumbles. “If that’s what you want. Whatever makes you more comfortable.” He shifts over on the couch to give Chasten some space. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you uneasy.”

It has only been four months, but Chasten can already decipher Pete’s facial expressions and their underlying meanings pretty well. Pete’s current expression, or lack thereof, is the same one he uses when he’s bored or uncomfortable while talking to a constituent and wants to leave, but doesn’t want to offend them—a carefully crafted, emotionless façade. His hands are neatly folded in his lap, an exercise he had learned as a child to discipline himself from speaking or acting out of turn. They were closed off. He was closed off.

Chasten feels his heart plummet into his stomach.

“No, _you_ never did. I mean, I want you to be comfortable, too—” he tries to start, but then Sherri walks back into the living room with two refilled glasses of wine in each hand. Pete gives the smallest of smiles in thanks when Sherri hands him his glass. His hand shakes slightly as he lifts the glass to his lips. He knows Chasten sees.

Pete suddenly feels a headache coming on, the buildup from his glass at dinner and the conversation he just had making him more lightheaded than he is comfortable with. He lowers the glass without taking a sip.

“Actually, you can have mine, ma’am. I’m sorry for making you go through the trouble,” Pete says. He barely stops himself from patting Chasten’s knee as he rises from the couch, not wanting to make him uncomfortable even more than he already has. He blinks quickly, hard, feeling unsteady in more ways than one.

“Is everything alright, hon?” Sherri asks, concern in her expression that Pete is too distracted to quite appreciate.

“Yeah. I just think I feel a headache coming on,” he says. “A long drive and two glasses of wine was probably not the smartest idea, in hindsight, no matter how pleasant the company. I hope you don’t consider me rude if I head to bed a little early.” He doesn’t look at Chasten as he says this, trying to sound as appreciative and polite as possible.

“Of course not, hon. Go to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.” Pete doesn’t think he can love the kind woman any more than he had learned to in the past eleven hours they have been there. He nods his thanks and manages a small smile before heading towards the hallway.

“Peter?” He hears Chasten’s timid voice, stopping him before he’s out of sight. Pete turns around to look at him, the hope of something—he doesn’t know what—rising in his chest. They lock eyes, tired gaze on tired gaze. Until they both realize there is nothing more to say right now.

Chasten breathes a resigned sigh. “Good night.”

Pete nods once, his expression more empty than it had been a minute ago. He turns back around and walks down the hallway. The sound of a door softly shutting follows seconds later.

Chasten hears his mom asking if everything was alright, but his mind is stuck replaying the scene of the hope draining out of Peter’s eyes at his pathetic good night. After assuring her they’re fine, he makes a half-hearted conversation with her before she, too, turns in for the night. A kiss to his forehead, and he is left alone, his hammering thoughts the only other presence in the room. He sits replaying his and Peter’s conversation, trying to discern what exactly he said to make Peter react in the dejected way that he did. And then it hits him like a ton of bricks.

From what Chasten had gathered, Peter has spent his entire life, up until six months ago, actively denying himself love because he feared that the consequences would be too severe, that he would lose everything he had spent his life building up: a career he was passionate about, his friends, and his family.

The man has lived through the last six months cautiously reassured that maybe everything would be okay, that he might be able to live the life he must have yearned for since he was a teenager after all. He has spent the last four months overwhelmed from the experience he had so achingly lacked for years, hopelessly in love with a man who loves him back madly. The decades worth of love he had painfully stored up and buried could finally be enthusiastically given to another who needed to receive it just as much as he needed to provide it.

Until that same man seemed to throw it all back in his face without so much as a warning.

They most likely have a conversation ahead of them, but Chasten can’t concentrate on that right now. All he knows is that, from his perspective, he made the man that he’s madly in love with feel unloved. He feels himself cracking.

Chasten has been through that heartache before. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. And the fact that Peter thought that _he_ was the one who made Chasten uneasy? His chest contracts, imagining the pain Peter must be feeling, alone. He knows the feeling all too well.

Right before Pete had turned around to head down the hall after Chasten’s feeble good night, for a split second, his face held the same expression as that of a kicked puppy who had disappointed his human. Crestfallen. The image won’t go away.

He never wants to see that look on Pete’s face again.

The chilly air brings goosebumps to Chasten’s skin as he sneaks into Pete’s room, closing the door quickly so the hallway light won’t disturb his boyfriend. Pete is curled on his side, facing away from the door. Chasten quietly places his glasses on the nightstand and climbs under the covers. He notes that Pete is still breathing too quickly to be asleep, agonizing over the fact that he’s the reason for his love’s restlessness. He scooches up behind Pete to sneak an arm over his abdomen, pressing soft kisses to his neck. He doesn’t know how else to convey his apology without speaking, which isn’t an option right now considering the tightness in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Pete says without preamble, so softly that Chasten can barely hear him. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable in your own house, or anywhere else.”

 _Oh, Peter_.

Chasten swallows the lump in his throat. “Darling, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was them, not you. Believe me, if you ever do or say anything that makes me uncomfortable, I’ll be the first to tell you.”

Pete nods.

“I’ve trusted people too easily in the past, and those people usually broke my heart, in more ways than one. And all of those heartbreaks—too many,” he notes darkly, “—made me build up a pretty thick wall between my heart and the rest of the world. And for some people, I still haven’t taken those walls down. But… I’ve realized—for a while now, actually—that you’re not one of those people.”

Pete has been silent throughout Chasten’s stammering monologue, which he was grateful for, but he swore he just felt Pete’s heart rate jump the slightest bit from the way Chasten’s front was pressed to his back.

“So, I’m going to get insecure sometimes, because although it’s not anywhere near where it was a few years ago, it’s still there, and I won’t lie to you about that. But I’m working on it, and still learning how to be open with people I love.” He pauses. “People like you.”

The word was still new enough to get their hearts skipping a beat each time they said it.

“And I just feel like you should know that. For… whenever.” He sighs. Waits.

“I’m still learning, too, love,” Pete says carefully. “We’ll learn together.”

Chasten lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That sounds good to me,” he replies, hiding a tiny smile into Pete’s neck. Relieved. 

“I’ll do better,” Pete says again. “I promise. You deserve better.”

Chasten presses another gentle kiss to the back of Peter’s neck. It’s quiet for a minute. He can feel Peter’s chest expand, as if he wants to say something, before reconsidering and going back off into his head. He can practically feel Pete trying to organize his thoughts by filing cabinets, so he gives him time, all the while delicately rubbing a thumb where his hand rests on his love’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says into the dark, breaking the pained silence. “I’m trying to figure out how to put this into words.”

“Take your time,” Chasten replied. “I’m here.”

His thumb is warm from the friction of rubbing back and forth over Pete’s shirt. The gesture is a comfort to them both, even with the dread in the pit of Pete’s stomach at what he’s about to say next.

“Love, can I—” he cuts himself off. Tries again. “I want to be honest with you.”

Chasten has no reply for that other than an “Okay.” The back and forth motion of his thumb has switches to small circles.

Pete takes a breath. Lets it out. Tries his hand at another one, and—

“I’ve spent twenty years hiding who I am,” Pete finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“You don’t have to.”

If Pete heard him, he doesn’t show it. “I didn’t come out of the closet just to go right back in because some homophobe thinks we’re damned for daring to fall in love with each other.”

Chasten tightens his grip around Pete’s waist and rests his chin in the crook of Pete’s neck. “Peter, I’m so sorry. I wish I never said any of that.” He presses another kiss to the warm skin closest to his mouth—right under Pete’s jawline—before continuing, “You are worth more to me than what some relative who barely speaks to me twice a year thinks about me.”

An almost imperceptible tilt of Pete’s head in Chasten’s direction indicates that he’s listening. Chasten takes it as a hopeful sign to push on, but not before Pete turns around in his arms so they lay face to face.

His chest tightens at the wary look on Pete’s face—almost convinced, but not all the way. Still in need of reassurance. He hates to see his love, usually so self-confident and sure of who he was, suddenly insecure. He hates it more because he is the one who made Pete feel like that.

“This—what we have,” Chasten says, scrunching his hand where it rested on Pete’s back for emphasis, “is everything to me, Peter. You have to know that—I _need_ you to know that. And I’m sorry that I jeopardized that. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“And I’m sorry that I hurt _you_. In your own home, of all places. God, love, that’s the last thing I’d want to do. I just… I want to hold your hand at dinner,” Pete says, looking into Chasten’s eyes. “I want to look at you without worrying if I’m staring for too long. Hell, I want to kiss you right in front of them, even though that much PDA isn’t my thing.” An airy chuckle escapes from his lips. “But I want the freedom to do it anyway. And this sounds spiteful, but I want them to wish that they had what we have. Because, love, I don’t think anyone ever will.”

He doesn’t deserve him. There is no way. Chasten can barely breathe.

“Just... let me be fond of you. Please,” Peter begs, voice cracking somewhere along the way.

If there was any wall left around Chasten’s heart, the wrecking ball that came barreling through surely destroyed every last brick. Rushes of air quickly replaced the vacant spaces, making his next breath feel like the first full one he’s taken since the summer he came out.

“Peter,” he breathes, and kisses him with all the desperate emotions from the last hour, the last eight years. Pete sighs into the kiss and presses his fingertips into the small of Chasten’s back, pulling him as close as he can, as if trying to convey his affection through his touch. He can feel Pete’s hammering heart rate under his hand cupping Pete’s jaw. It closely mirrors that of his own.

“I’m sorry,” Chasten breathes against his lips, because the other times he said it don’t feel like enough. Pete rubs his thumb over Chasten’s cheek. Chasten nuzzles into the comforting touch.

“I appreciate that. But I want you to be comfortable. How can I help with that?”

“Hold my hand all you want,” Chasten says, a new forcefulness in his tone. “Look at me the way you do all you want. Hell, kiss me all you want, too. If they don’t like it, then that’s their problem, not ours. We’ve waited too long for each other.”

Pete bites his lip to tamp down his smile. He looks beautiful. This man will be the love of his life, Chasten thinks. He is sure of it.

“I love you,” Pete whispers.

“I love you, too. So much.”

Their noses press together, then their foreheads. Chasten presses a few more quick pecks to Pete’s lips, making Pete giggle, before brushing their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. He pulled back to look Pete in the eyes, pulling one hand back around to gently caress Pete’s cheek with the back of his fingers and his thumb. A whisper. 

“You must be he that I was seeking… It comes to me, as of a dream.” Pete moves his head up to press a gentle, but firm, kiss to Chasten’s forehead before murmuring, “I am to see to it that I do not lose you.”

A sweet ache swells in Chasten’s chest and he breathes a disbelieving laugh. “You really were born in 1890, weren’t you?”

Pete only smiles. 

He asks Chasten to stay here for the night and sneak downstairs in the morning. He needs to be close to him. Chasten tangles their legs together in response. They fall asleep tucked against each other, not caring who might see.

~

_Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,_

_You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)_

_I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,_

_All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,_

_You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,_

_I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,_

_You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,_

_I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,_

_I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,_

_I am to see to it that I do not lose you._

\- “To a Stranger,” Walt Whitman

**Author's Note:**

> "To a Stranger" was the first poem I read from Walt Whitman, and I think it captures their relationship well. Also, Pete was definitely a nineteenth century novelist in his past life.
> 
> Thanks for reading. x


End file.
